Special Kind of Different
by RobinsonSiblings
Summary: By RobinsonSiblings. Being stuck in the middle a supernatural war that nobody else seems to know about has gotten 6 looking for answers. With 2's help, 6 finds the book he wants, and the Artist and the Inventor get a rather interesting look into the spiritual world through the New Testament. I Am is real ... but who will follow Him? *minor spoilers for SR, dedicated to Aoki Aoi 16*
1. Part I: The Dream

**TF: Wow, it's been a while since an update, sorry guys! TPKR is still in progress, and since it involves more OC's I've never shown before, I needed to polish their personalities before writing the chapter, but it's in progress! Hang in there!**

**Skye: To tide you over, we kinda put together this little two or three-shot story, which acts as a sort of prequel to Stitchpunk Rush. There will be minor spoilers, but nothing too big or revealing – unless you're smart enough to figure it out. :) It's also a kind of musing on 6. What goes on in his head and such. And what better way to explore that then dreaming?**

_**Wilbur: There will also be references to Wreck-It Ralph – this IS a prequel to Stitchpunk Rush, people. **__**Nothing is owned except for the plot, everything else belongs to their rightful owners. **_

**TF: But I do own you and Felix, Skye.**

**Skye: What about Wilbur?**

**TF: He's not in here. He's not very important, anyway.**

_**Wilbur: HEY!**_

**TF: Kidding! Yeah, you're important, you're just not present.**

_**Wilbur: Better ...**_

**Skye: Oops, almost forgot – we don't technically own the cover, we got the images off of the Web and pasted them together. The drawings of 6 and 2 are credited to the DA artist Enolianslave, featured in his/her one-shot comics. The picture of 6 was taken from the sixteenth panel of "Sharp", while the picture of 2 was taken from the eighth panel of "Farewell". TF just colored them in a bit.**

**TF: I also do not own Mystery. This will be the first glimpse of him we get. Maybe somebody can guess who he is! :D**

**Skye: Doubtful.**

**TF: This story (three-shot actually, it's three-parts, remember?) is dedicated to Aoki Aoi 16! Jesus loves you! **

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_"It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light." – Aristotle Onassis_

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_**~ Special Kind of Different ~**_

_**Part I: The Dream**_

The black and white striped doll looked around the empty, black space surrounding him, ink-stained fingers clutching the iron key around his neck as his mismatched, silver and gold-rimmed eyes darted around the silent nothingness nervously. He bit his lip. "... H-h-hello?" 6 stuttered in barely audible whisper.

There was no answer. The Stitchpunk artist clutched his key like a security blanket, and he suddenly felt a rush of cold wind blow past him. Turning his head, he caught a glimpse of a whitish mist swirl by him and vanish into the darkness beyond, and his optics widened. "W-wait!" he called, running into the blackness after it.

There was no sign of the foggy mist anymore, and 6 slowed down, looking around with a mixture of curiosity and fear. "... A-anyone t-there?"

Somebody giggled, and the doll whipped around in alarm before freezing, staring in disbelief at what he now saw. A little way away from him, in the darkness, was ... a window? He blinked, then cocked his head slightly and crept forward, figuring the key as he reached the light-filled opening. The light, now that he was close enough, abruptly cleared, and his eyes adjusted enough to see what lay at the other side of the window. The window wasn't even a window at all, but a squarish-shaped opening in the black place 6 was in ... like a portal?

He shook his head. Portal or not, he knew he was supposed to pay attention to what was on the opposite side, and peered through the opening to the scene beyond. To his surprise, there was a large, white room, with large, silver-colored boxes and squares in the walls, little lines of random letters and numbers moving across them in streams of rainbow colors. They hummed softly, with the mumbling of voices only a little ways beyond. Perhaps there were people talking out of his range of sight. Off to the left side of the room was a round, white table, at which were seated five Human Beings.

This confused 6. Weren't Humans extinct since the War of the Machines? Then how could he be seeing some? Maybe this was a portal showing the past ... that made sense. The entire scene was foggy, as though the opening of the portal was covered in a mist like the one he'd seen pass him, making it difficult to see the Humans very clearly. They all looked to be females, except for a very small male boy that was giggling, explaining what 6 had heard earlier. The biggest one, probably the eldest, had very pale-looking hair, and the other three females were as small as the boy, one with black hair, one with green, and one with brown. The green-haired one had a candle on her head, too ... odd.

6 blinked again, slowly processing the Beings. "... W-who are t-t-they ...?" he murmured in puzzlement.

He then kneeled down in front of the portal-window, leaning his golden hands on the edge of the opening as he watched the group curiously. He knew they couldn't see him. The mist like a one-way mirror in a way, allowing him to see out but preventing them from seeing in. It had happened before, and now was no different. The biggest Human had a sheet of paper in front of her, and was scribbling something on it with a lead pencil. She was saying something, but like the voices in the background, it was muffled and blurred. The black-haired girl seemed to groan, resting the side of her head on one hand in obvious boredom, making 6 giggle slightly.

She said something to the bigger person, causing the person to roll her eyes - which were pink? – and make a retort, most likely sarcastic. The smaller girl answered back with a smirk, and something blue rippled down her body, making 6 jump back a little with a surprised yelp. That was strange. What was that? None of the others seemed to notice, as the bigger one kept talking, and the boy kept giggling, playing with something on a string. The brown-haired one apparently asked a question, causing the pink-eyed one to give a detailed explanation of ... whatever they were talking about.

6 leaned forward farther, careful not to fall against the mist covering the portal-window lest it give way under his weight, trying to hear at least a little bit of what the strange creatures were saying. The bigger one suddenly picked up the paper in front of her and held it up, displaying the the other four, but also to 6, a single mark in the center – a slash. She looked to be saying something, then used the pencil she was holding to draw a number on the left side of the symbol. Ironically, it was a six, causing 6 to perk up slightly in interest at seeing his number in the past. But what was the slash for?

The Human pointed at it, then drew another six below the first one, and drew a second slash along with it. This one, however, went directly through the second six instead of next to it like the first one. He tilted his head to the other side. "What's s-s-she doing?"

The artist abruptly noticed movement out of the corner of his silver optic, and he turned his head. Sitting on one of the humming boxes, legs swinging over the edge, was ... one of the twins? Wait, this was supposed to be in the past, how could they be there? 6 rubbed his eyes quickly before looking again to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

He wasn't.

The twin was still there, watching the Humans, and was either 3 or 4. It was a bit far-away to properly tell, but 6 noticed that the twin's hood was off, making him take the wild guess it was 4. 4 liked taking his hood off sometimes, as long as he was positive nobody was watching. Having their hoods down, to the two dolls, was comfortable at times, yet apparently made them feel exposed and vulnerable. 6 understood that. He felt like that whenever his key got taken ... the twin he assumed was 4 was still watching the group, and strangely enough, did not appear in the least surprised or scared of them at all, almost as if he was used to their presence.

The blue Stitchpunk suddenly appeared to gasp, clapping one steel hand over his mouth as his optics widened in ... terror? Before 6 could even ask react, 4 bolted to his feet and spun around, vanishing beyond the portal's sight and most likely back the way he'd first come, as he'd probably been perched there for a while. This confused 6 even more then the fact 4 was there in the first place. What was wrong? 4 looked fine just several seconds ago, and then he'd just run off as though the Cat-Beast was after him. The Humans didn't look as though they'd noticed, continuing to talk among themselves, but 6 had lost interest. The stained doll sat back on his knees as he tried to figure out what he'd seen.

Why was 4 with Humans? If 4 was there, then they'd have to be extinct, because that was the present. If he wasn't there, but they were, that would be the past, because they weren't technically alive back then. But they were both there. Perhaps what he was seeing was an event yet to come ... an event in the future. So Humans were around in the future? The black and white artist shook his head. He might not be able to communicate, hear, or speak as normally as the others in his Clan, but he could think _almost_ normally, and everything he was seeing was confusing ...

This time, his golden eye caught movement, and he looked down to see 7 standing on the floor, back turned to him, speaking to someone. He blinked. Wait ... why was there a red patch on her back? She'd never had that before ... he leaned farther over, and his eyes widened as he suddenly felt the surface under his hands give way, and he plummeted forward with a yelp, falling out of the portal thing and onto a silver box positioned just a bit below, yet in front of it. He got to his hands and knees, shaking his head slowly, then looked up – his golden and silver optics met with a pair of steel ones instantly.

The thing was ... the steel optics didn't belong to his sister.

Instead, they belonged to the person she was talking to, who had stopped paying attention to her to look over her shoulder and stare directly at 6 with a very confused expression. This _must_ be the future, the artist decided – that was 9, and 9 wouldn't be awake for another thirty years. The other members of the Numbers Clan didn't even know he existed. 6 smiled faintly and waved at the burlap doll, then let his smile vanish as he pointed to where 4 used to be. He knew 9 and 7 knew 4 was there, so maybe if he told them 4 was gone, then they'd do something about it. 9 turned his head towards where 6 indicated, and 6 stood up, quickly turning his back on the scene and, reaching up, grabbed hold of the edge of the portal and pulled himself back inside, back into the darkness, as the mist once again covered the opening. It was like it was waiting for him to return.

He sat back down on his knees, watching the scene behind the portal, and saw 7 say something to the other doll. 9 turned back to her with an answer, then looked surprised and pointed at the silver box 6 used to be on. He said something, and 7 turned to also stare at the silver box before retorting. 9 shook his head as if protesting whatever she said, and began speaking again when–

**_"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"_**

A girl's scream ripped through the air, piercing through the muffled sounds like a gunshot. 6 fell back, fingers wrapping around the key out of instinct as his eyes widened fearfully, scrambling back to his sitting position as he stared at the portal. What was that?! The Humans and Stitchpunks seemed to have heard and though the same thing, as they all whipped around in their seats, the biggest Human bolting into a standing position and dropping the paper on the floor, all of them looking horrified. The black-haired one rippled blue a second time and opened her mouth. _"S ... KEY!"_ she screamed, the middle of her sentence getting muffled out.

Something brown and gold flashed past 9 and 7, vaulting over a pile of books on the floor before vanishing in the direction the scream had been in, and the leap slowed down it's movement just enough for 6 to catch a glimpse of cyan optics.

Cyan optics?

9 yelled something and ran after the blur, and just like that, the portal caved in on itself, the scene enveloped by inky shadows and vanishing from sight. 6 gasped. _"N-NO!_ W-wait! Don't g-g-go!" he exclaimed, grabbing at the blackness in a desperate attempt to try and open the window again.

But he felt nothing, just empty space. It wasn't there. It was gone. Why? What did any of that mean? What was going on? 6 felt a faint breeze blow past him, and turned hopefully to see if it was the white mist again. He didn't see anything, but a soft, faint voice whispered within the moving wind. _"Take it away ..."_

6 blinked. "W-what? Take w-what away? W-what should I t-t-take?"

Another small breeze twirled past him, ruffling his stained, yarn hair. _"Take it away ... make it nothing ... less then ..."_

The words faded away, and 6's face fell. "M-make what n-n-nothing? W-what's less t-t-then? I d-don't understand! P-p-please! Come b-b-back!"

The silence was deafening, and the artist bit his lip, lowering his head to gaze down at the black ground. Take it away ... make it nothing ... less then ... less then what? Nothing? What did that mean? He sighed. He'd probably know in the morning, but right now, it was time to leave ... something suddenly brushed against his side, and the Stitchpunk jumped back with a yelp, whipping his head around. Nobody was there. "... H-hello?" he squeaked, slowly rising to his feet as he looked around. "... W-who is i-it?"

Slowly, faintly, the sound of laughter reached his hearing, and 6 stiffened, optics widening. That wasn't the laughter he'd heard from the Human boy earlier. It was whispering and far away, and very gentle. Creepily gentle. It sounded so ... dark. Evil. Almost ... 6 started shaking his head frantically. No no no! He wasn't supposed to be here! He should have been gone by now, what had needed to be shown had been shown, this shouldn't be happening! And yet the one word he could think of for the laughter still echoed in his mind. It was the wrong voice. It was ...

Demonic.

6 did not want to have another encounter with Bad. He knew he shouldn't be scared of him, Bad couldn't hurt him because he "didn't have any legal right" according to Son, but still ... he just didn't feel like hearing Bad right now. He wanted to go home. 6 tightened his grip on his key, carefully backing away from where the laughter was coming from, but it didn't fade away. If anything, it grew louder.

**_"Where are you going?"_**

6 jumped at the sound of Bad's smooth, snarling voice before gulping, mismatched eyes darting around the blackness, and he leaped to his left side with a cry as he felt something brush up against his cloth a second time. This time, he caught a glimpse of brown before it vanished. The laughter grew even louder, echoing tauntingly. _**"Where are you going?"**_ Bad taunted. _**"You can't run away!"**_

"G-go away ..." the artist mumbled, crossing his arms as he closed his eyes.

_**"Go away, go away, go away, go away!"**_ Bad mimicked. _**"Oh, I'm sorry, that was wrong! It's 'g-go away', right?"**_

6 covered where his ears should be, wincing slightly at the mocking words. He hated it when Bad made fun of how he talked – it was bad enough when 8 did it. "S-stop it ..."

Bad laughed. _**"Stop it? Oh, how cute! You're finally defending yourself a little instead of being the helpless, useless little weakling you usually are!"**_

His voice changed to a snarl, almost seeming to sneer at the Stitchpunk. _**"Not that that would change anything. Change who you are, what you are ... how the others see you. How they see you're different."**_

"G-go _AW-A-A-AY!"_ 6 yelled as he stepped back, clenching his mismatched eyes shut tighter.

He knew he shouldn't listen to Bad. He was bad, just like his name, against I Am and the other good voices, dark, evil, mocking. Again, he knew Bad couldn't physically hurt him either because he "didn't have legal right" according to Son. But that never stopped Bad's words from hurting. And they hurt so badly ...

_**"Don't deny it,"**_ Bad hissed. _**"It'll always be there. In the back of your shattered mind, your broken reality, right where you keep hiding it. Because you aren't like them. They know it. That's why they hate you so much. And you know it, too."**_

_"GO AWAY!"_ he screamed, choking back a sob.

The whispering voice began laughing. _**"Freak. Curse. Trouble. Useless. Broken. Insane. Deaf. Strange. Challenged. Nothing. Mistake. Naive. Disabled. Lame. Misfit. Mental case. Fluke. Worthless. Stupid. Helpless. Shattered. Accident. Dangerous ..."**_

6 crumpled to the ground, sobbing. **_"I SAID G-GO AWAY!"_** he screamed.

There was silence. The artist's crying eventually calmed down enough to make him cautiously lift his head, letting his odd eyes wander around as he struggled to a sitting position. There was nothing. Had Bad left for once? Why? Had he decided he'd said enough? No, that wasn't Bad at all, he wouldn't have left so soon ... someone chuckled nearby, and 6 stiffened. It didn't take too much thought to realize his thoughts were confirmed. Bad was still there ...

He quickly buried his face in his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs as he rocked back and forth, trying to ignore the being's presence. The dark voice snickered. _**"Now, now, don't be like that ..."**_ it purred eerily, and 6 shuddered, hugging himself tighter.

Bad snorted. _**"Fine. I'll leave," **_it hissed._** "But don't worry. I doubt you'll get lonely ..."**_

His voice faded away, leaving behind a soft, humming noise, and 6 waited tensely for that, too, to ebb away before he'd even dare to move. Only ... it didn't go away. If anything, it grew louder. The Stitchpunk lifted his head a second time, staring ahead at where the humming was coming from in puzzlement. What was that? What was humming? It almost sounded like a machine – of the non-living sort – and seemed to be close by. How could a machine be here? Upon listening closer, 6 slowly realized that it was beginning to lose it's consistent sound and instead take on a kind of creepy, sing-song pattern, like someone humming a tune.

Bad's words echoed within his mind. _**"I doubt you'll get lonely ..."**_

Chills ran down his spine, and he hugged his black key to his chest, wishing it wasn't quite so dark in here. Something darted past him, and 6 spun around to try and see what it was, only to catch a glimpse of a single, red-glowing light before it vanished into a patch of blackness nearby. Another flash, and he turned again to spot two more red lights before they were gone, and he heard a slithering sound behind, causing him to spin around a third time, this time catching a patch of brown and two glowing, aqua lights that also dissolved into the shadows. Eerie giggling mocked the doll's desperate attempts to see the source of the movements, and a fourth object rushed past him. 6 whipped around yet again, scooting backwards as he scrambled to his feet, clutching the key as his breathing began to quicken.

_"Oh, look at you ..."_

He spun around to see yet again, nobody, nothing but a quick flash of metal, but the voice was defiantly still there. It was different, though ... yet just because it sounded different from Bad didn't mean it didn't sound purely demonic. _"Oh, look at you ..." _it echoed with a snarl._ "You're so small. So weak. So afraid. And maybe that's the right type of response ..."_

It faded away, replaced by the cruel, mocking snickers of a second voice. _"And you're all alone! Wonderful for us! Dangerous for you. And there's an interesting term for the word 'wonderful' in this world, isn't there ..."_

The snickers changed to a snake-like hiss of hatred. _"Of course. 'Smashing', as one of your friends would say, correct? Well ..."_

Silence. Dead silence. 6 looked around frantically, when the voice whispered from only inches next to him, _"Allow me to redefine the word for you."_

6 felt something wrap around his arm, and he screamed shrilly, yanking away as he stumbled back, breath coming in ragged gasps as his optics widened in terror. A third voice joined in. _"Destruction causes so much fear. So much pain. So much suffering, loss, and death."_

It gave a gleeful, deranged laugh. _"Don't you **LOVE** it?"_

6 shook his black and white head slightly, whimpering, and yet another voice made itself known. _"Foolish b-being! You c-cannot get r-r-rid of the o-ones you l-l-left b-behind ..."_

Now there was a fifth one, but unlike the others, it didn't say a word. Instead, it started to laugh. One by one, the other voices joined in, until their creepy, echoing laughter filled the darkness, bouncing back and forth and invading 6's hearing, forcing it's way into his thoughts, joined by the roars and snarls of the Beasts and the taunting echoes of yet more voices, snickering, laughing, mocking ... he clasped his hands over his head and, spinning around, bolted forward, frantic to get away. The laughter increased. **_"YOU CAN'T RUN!"_** they hissed. **_"THERE'S NOWHERE! NOWHERE AT ALL!"_**

Red lights began flashing out of the darkness as the laughter was joined by snarls, hisses, and roars as the voices of Beasts became present in the dark space.

_"To **RULE** us ..."_

_"To **MOCK** us ..."_

_"To **BURN** us ..."_

_"To **POSSESS** us ..."_

_"To **ENSNARE** us ..."_

6's running sped up as he ran faster, faster then he'd run before here, ignoring the stabbing pain shooting down his right leg, the one that had been injured during the War. What were they saying? Why were they repeating Purposes? Only Stitchpunks had those, and those Purposes were nothing like the ones he knew! They were all wrong! They were all BAD! He had to get out of here! He had to!

_"We **REMEMBER** ..."_

His eyes darted around frantically, trying to evade the hissing voices. He didn't want to hear any of this! He wanted it to stop! 6 knew whatever was going to happen was going to be very bad, and for him, that was enough. He kept running.

_"We **REBUILD** ..."_

6 suddenly felt something wrap around one of his ankles, yanking him off-balance and sending him crashing to the dark ground with a cry of pain. Twisting around to see what had grabbed him, his silver and gold-rimmed optics met with those of ... he froze, his eyes widening in pure horror as he saw who the voices belonged to, what had grabbed him. Six orbs of red light hovered there in the darkness, evil glints within them, a slightly larger, golden-tinged orb in the center, with two aqua-glowing orbs emitting crackling beams of blue light. But they weren't just orbs.

They were ... eyes.

The many eyes stared down at him, then shone brighter, revealing five smirks filled with razor-sharp, metal teeth like daggers, almost like the Cheshire Cat in Lewis Carroll's _Alice in Wonderland._ Their smirks were filled with malice, dripping evil glee and mockery.

**_"WE COME BACK STRONGER!"_**

They lunged at him. 6 snapped his eyes shut, throwing up his arms in front of his face for protection, and screamed the only thing that came into his terror-filled mind.

_"I AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!"_

Instantly, an explosion of white light burst out of the dark ground in front of 6, engulfing everything in it's dazzling light.

Then nothing. Just white and warmth and light. And despite everything that had just happened ...

6 knew everything would be all right.

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_"'Do not be afraid of their faces, for I am with you to deliver you,' says the LORD."_

_Jeremiah 1:8, NKJV (New King James Version)_

_TF (TFTime)_

_Wilbur (Wilbur-Nator)_

_Skye (RobinsInTheSkye)_

_Felix (Wreck-It Felix)_


	2. Part II: The Decision

**TF: So, hi guys! Wow, been a while since an update, huh? :D I'm almost done with TPKR, been working on it for quite a while because I wanted to depict Orrin's personality perfectly and gradually slip in the argument scene – not saying more, that'd be spoilers – but since this was sitting about in a document for quite a while, I decided to post it! Last part will come up soon! :)**

**Skye: As usual, nobody owns anything, everything belongs to it's owners. And those voices from the first chapter ... we are unsure if we own them or not. Technically, we don't, but technically, we do ... I call it a half. *shrugs***

**_Wilbur: Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this, was longer then we expected it to be! And review, of course! Can never forget to review._**

**_Felix: Si!_**

**Skye: Random side-note – we got a new follower, none other then the B-Day boy, Cool! Celebration! *blows a noise-maker, confetti flies out and into Wilbur's face***

**_Wilbur: *spits out mouthful of confetti* SKYE!_**

**TF: I think now would be a good time to get to the story. Still dedicated to Akoi Aoi 16! Remember that, people! *pushes the "play" button***

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_"Prayer is simply a two-way conversation between you and God." – Billy Graham_

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_**~ Special Kind of Different ~**_

_**Part II: The Decision**_

_"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"_

6's eyes snapped open as he bolted upright in bed, screaming at the top of his lungs. There was the sound of running footsteps, and the curtained door to his room was pulled open as the other members of the Numbers Clan flooded into his shadowy room, alerted by his scream. "6!" the female, white doll, 7, exclaimed, screeching to a stop as she stared at the Stitchpunk worriedly. "What's wrong?! What happened?"

"We heard you screaming ..." the doll with the eye-patch, 5, added softly, the leather-vested one, 2, using the candle in his hand to light the larger one usually standing in the corner of 6's room, illuminating the area.

6 looked around slowly, his panting gradually returning to normal breathing, eyes wandering around the room. He was back ... they were gone, he was okay ... it was just a dream ... more like a dream turned nightmare. He clung to his key tightly. "B-bad ..." he murmured, shaking.

7's expression softened, and she dropped to her knees, hugging 6 comfortingly. "Nightmare?" she asked gently, rubbing his back.

He nodded slightly, burying his face in her white cloth, tightening his grip on her but careful not to stab her with his fingers. He was relieved that I Am had woken him up before it'd gotten too scary ... looking back, he hadn't talked to I Am or Son before he fell asleep, he was too tired, and felt a tinge of annoyance that Bad had noticed that tiny gap. The Stitchpunk with the red cape, 1, crossed his arms. "That's it?" he snapped. "It was just a _nightmare?"_

"It must've been pretty frightening ..." 5 mumbled timidly.

1 scowled at him, making the teenager shirk back. "Screaming cannot be tolerated in the Sanctuary! Any loud noises might lead the Beasts straight to us, and then it'll all be over! A feeble nightmare is not serious enough to have to cause such a disrupting ruckus that is likely to attract Machines, let alone wake us all up from a much-needed sleep!"

7 looked back, glaring at the leader. "Well, sorry to disappoint you that somebody's not _DYING!" _she retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The white Stitchpunk gasped angrily, gritting his teeth as he stepped forward. "Why you imprudent little–!"

2 grabbed 1's arm. "1 ... please. Not now."

1 glared at 2, then yanked away from his younger brother's steel grasp and spun around, stalking out of the room with an angered huff. The largest Stitchpunk, 8, looked undecided for a moment, then shrugged and went after 1, leaving 6 with 2, 5, and 7 – 3 and 4 were not present, due to 3 being ill and 4 being the one watching him for the moment. 7 pulled away from 6, stroking his stained hair. "Are you all right?"

6 nodded shakily, rocking back and forth. "B-bad dream ..." he stammered. "M-m-monsters ..."

His sister smiled. "Well, next time you see any monsters, come tell me. I'll kill them for you."

He giggled at that, snuggling against her shoulder with a content sigh. 5 yawned, rubbing his one eye with a copper hand, and 2 looked at him. "You can go back to bed now, my boy," he told the burlap doll.

5 nodded slightly, giving 6 a small wave and a faint smile, then turned around and quietly left the room, his footsteps fading into the distance. 7 tilted her head at 6. "You think you'll be able to go back to sleep?"

The Artist nodded, yawning himself as he laid back down on his makeshift bed, and 7 covered him up with his blanket before leaning over, lightly kissing his forehead. "'Night, 6," she whispered.

He nodded, eyes closing and curling up into a ball. "Love you ..." he murmured.

She smiled. "Love you too."

Stroking 6's hair one last time, the green-buttoned doll stood up, walking out of the room and back to bed without a sound. 2 blew out the candle before nodding at 6. "We'll see you in the morning, child ..." he murmured softly. "But if you want, you can come over any time. All right?"

6 nodded back, and 2 smiled before going after the teenager, carefully closing the curtains and plunging the room into darkness once again. The sound of their footsteps faded away into the night, and 6 stared at the door with a glazed-over expression, silent as he replayed the events in his dream.

It was all so strange ... so very strange. He didn't understand it. Didn't understand why those mathematical symbols seemed to scare 4 so much. What did they mean, if they meant anything at all? The Humans? What of them? How were they alive? And that scream! It sounded as if somebody was in great pain and fear, fear for their very life, and one of the Humans said "s key" ... something like that.

And then those cyan optics! That was what confused the artist the most. Only Stitchpunks had optics, and none of the Numbers Clan had ones that were cyan. Yes, it was defiantly cyan, there was no mistaking that neon color. Furthermore, the owner of those optics had a very dark brown cloth, darker then any of them, the color of polished oak. And had gold. Nobody except 6 himself had anything golden, and even with him, it was only a very little bit – not as much as the blur. Was it possible that ... maybe ... there was a _tenth_ Stitchpunk? He knew the Scientist made only nine of their kind, and there were no others ever created, so how was that possible? But then again, how were Humans being alive possible?

The Artist sighed softly. And then ... there was that riddle. Take it away ... make it nothing ... less then ... less then what? What did that mean? What was the "it" the voice spoke of? And Bad ... 6 shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. He hated Bad. He knew it was wrong to hate, but to him, not in this case. I Am said to "love your enemies", but Bad wasn't HIS enemy, he was I Am's. So did that give him a right to hate Bad? I Am did nothing wrong, he shouldn't be hated by Bad, and for Bad hating I Am, as well as the other voices that sometimes seemed like 6's only friends in his lonely world, 6 hated the dark being back.

And then those new voices. 6 had never heard them before. He had never heard those Purposes, those words that began with "we", never seen those horrible, glowing eyes or those evil smiles. He wished he'd never seen OR heard them. They were so evil, so dark, so cruel, so cold and unfeeling and heartless, so positively DEMONIC, that the striped doll almost felt like getting out of bed and dousing himself in ink to get rid of the corrupted feeling the eye contact left behind. Of course, he wouldn't do that. 1 would have a fit at the mess it would create, not to mention 6 being covered in ink as well, and then he'd be in trouble.

Still ... he already hated those voices. Even though he only caught a brief glimpse of them, he already recognized them, knew them, knew what - or, to be more correct, who - they were. And it scared him. So much ... 6 groaned, opening his eyes again. _"What's the point?"_ he asked in his mind. _"What's the point of all of this? Of ANY of this? Why do I keep having these dreams and visions, keep getting attacked in nightmares, even when I'm awake? Why? Why does this happen? And why is it ME?"_

He was met with silence. That didn't phase him – he plunged forward again. _"I don't understand! I don't understand this! I draw what I see, but they don't see it! They don't understand my pictures, and sometimes, I don't either! I try to tell them ... but they don't listen. And when they do try to, I ... I can't tell them! I know what to say in my mind, I do! But once it leaves me, it just ... it crumbles. It's distorted and shattered and broken and ... and ugly. Nobody can understand those kinds of words, and no matter how hard I try, I can't say anything else! I can't!"_

6 sat upright, hugging his knees as he rocked back and forth. _"Everything I know, everything You've told me, is trapped inside me! Why? Why am I different? I'm trying so hard to help them! They need to know about this! They need to know it's real – YOU'RE real! But instead ..."_

He choked back a sob, closing his eyes. _"T-they ... they think I'm crazy. That I'm insane, that I might hurt myself one day, that I'm just imagining things, that I'm not even real person because I don't think like they do ... because I'm not ... n-normal. I'm TRYING! I'm trying so HARD! But it doesn't seem to matter! I've gotten laughed at, sneered at, bullied, taunted, locked up, beaten, threatened ... all because I'm DIFFERENT! I don't want to be different! I just ... I just ..."_

6 collapsed back on his pile of rags, almost crying now as he curled into a ball. "... W-why m-m-me?" he whispered out loud. "I d-don't understand ..."

There was a soft murmur. _"Child ... there will be many things in life that you won't understand, but it will all make sense in the end. For the time being, it is not yet your place to understand. Leave that to Me. Just listen ..."_

6 opened his eyes. "But w-why me?" he asked, rubbing one eye with a faint sniff.

_"Because you are Mine,"_ the voice, dubbed "Son", answered gently. _"Because I chose you. A very long time ago. A servant is no greater then his Master – when I was in the world, the people of the world hated Me. They hate you because of Me, no matter how much they tell themselves otherwise. They may tell you differently, but you are special. Set apart. Never let anybody take that away from you. It is a gift, and a very precious, irreplaceable one at that."_

The Artist cocked his head thoughtfully. "... L-l-like 1's c-cape?"

Son chuckled. _"Not exactly. More so then the cape. Hearing from Me is a very precious gift. Not many people do that, but the ones that do, are blessed by My Father."_

"I Am ..." the doll murmured, smiling faintly. "He ... He w-was that l-light I s-s-saw, w-wasn't He?"

_"The one that ended your nightmare?"_ Son confirmed. _"Yes. He was. The Evil One somehow managed to slither his way into the dream, but Father took care of him. He will not bother you for a while."_

6 giggled. "T-thank you ..."

The gentle voice laughed. _"You are very welcome, but thank Father as well. He will not stand for anyone hurting His children, as the Word states. He is just. Now, goodnight, child. I will see you in the morning ..."_

6 yawned faintly, raising one golden hand to wave in the voice's direction. "G-goodnight, Son ..." he murmured.

Son's voice almost seemed to smile, and there was a soft, whooshing sound, like that of a small breeze, ruffling 6's hair before blowing aside the curtained door to his room and fading away, disappearing into the silence. 6 knew better then that. Son never really disappeared – he was something called _"om-ni-present",_ which, based on what the twins told him, meant the gentle being was everywhere at once. That sounded impossible to 6, but also gave him a sense of safety, knowing that at least somebody was always watching them ... he closed his silver and gold optics, attempting to go back to sleep.

But the questions he had kept flooding though his tired mind. Son was right. He needed to let the good voices take care of things, and if he did that, then everything would fall into place. But still ... just because they were taking care of things didn't mean he couldn't try to learn a little about what it all meant. He needed some information. And from past conversations he'd had with I Am and Son, he had a very good idea as to where to start ...

The problem was, he found reading difficult. The words just kept blurring together and mixing themselves up. That wouldn't do, he needed the exact wording, letter for letter. Guessing some things just wouldn't be the same. What if he missed something important? 6 sighed softly. What was he thinking, he could only barely understand letters, how could he read such a thing without making mistakes? Maybe ... maybe one of the Numbers could read to him. But which one?

1 and 8 were most defiantly out of the question, 5 found reading almost as difficult as 6 because of his "stupid depth perception", 7 could care less about reading, and ...

_"But if you want, you can come over any time ..."_

The Artist sat bolt upright.

2.

2 could read to him.

He wouldn't mind such a thing this late at night, and even though his optics were damaged from the ... the _Mischance,_ 6 shuddered, he could still read things well! Well ... well enough. And he said 6 could come over any time, so why not here? Why not now? And why not for something like this?

The black and white Stitchpunk rolled out of bed, scrambling to his feet as he waited for his mismatched optics to adjust to the dim lighting. Tiptoeing forward, 6 cautiously pulled aside the curtain to his room, peering out warily into the Throne Room beyond. 1 was asleep in his throne, and 8 was by a doorway, also asleep. He couldn't see the others, as they slept in different parts of the Sanctuary. He would know, he used to sleep upstairs with them.

Keyword. USED. 6 once accidentally ended up in the Emptiness because he'd somehow sleep-walked there, and ever since, 1 had forced him to sleep downstairs – so he and 8 could "keep an eye on" him. 6 hated it. He didn't need to be watched just because of one little accident, he didn't do it on purpose! But being considered insane, his protests were always ignored. If he even had the courage to protest at all, which usually, he didn't. The striped Stitchpunk was timid from creation, and that timidness had only served to strengthen as the years went by.

Taking a deep breath and praying to I Am that neither of the two would wake up, the Artist quietly stepped out of his room, letting the curtain drop into place behind him. Not taking his eyes off the sleeping Stitchpunks, 6 took a step forward, then quickly bolted across the room, ducking around the corner of the room leading into a side hallway before breathing out a sigh of relief. The hardest part was over. It was safe from now on, unless he ran into 7 or 5, but they were more likely to understand then either 1 or 8 ever would. _"T-thank you ..."_ he whispered up at the ceiling, waving, then quietly scampered down the hallway, heading for the staircase at the end of it.

Of course, there was an elevator that could take him upstairs, but 6 was rather wary about using it. The idea of being in a box suspended by rope over a gaping hole that, in one wrong move, could easily kill you, had never been a very pleasant aspect of 6's life. Besides, it had a habit of creaking lately, and neither 2 nor 5 had found the time to fix that problem yet.

Suddenly 6 stopped, his vision growing blurry out of nowhere, and a loud, ear-piercing screech came from behind him. The Artist jumped, spinning around, when his eyes widened as he stared in horror. Seven red eyes glared back at him, belonging to a HUGE, claws machine with canvas wings and a beak of scissors. There looked to have been eight at one point, but the eighth was shattered, glass scattered across the floor, and a fishing-hook stuck out of the smashed eye. One of 5's arrows?

The creature stepped towards 6 with a screech, and 6 noticed frantically flames starting to spread across the wooden floor of the Throne Room behind it, his tent-like room completely engulfed, gasoline spilled all over the place and stained glass covering the floor, allowing sunlight to stream through. The Artist blinked. Wait, sunlight? It was night just a moment ago, how did–

"6! _RUN!"_

6 turned in time to see 5, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, grab hold of his arm and pull him to the elevator. The striped doll knew he was running, but he wasn't the one doing it, it was like he was on automatic ... and everything was hazy ... maybe it was because of the smoke that was starting to billow through the air, but he doubted it. How did that creature get in? Why was it daytime? And how come 5's cloth looked duller then he remembered? 6's thoughts were cut off as 5 shoved him into the elevator, and another Stitchpunk jumped in with the two, causing 6 to start inwardly in shock.

**_9?_**

Wait, 9 wasn't awake yet! Why was he here?! What was going on?! 5 slammed the basket door shut, yanking on the rope, and the elevator plummeted down the shaft, causing 6 to cling to the side tightly, looking up as the winged creature reached the edge of the shaft and screamed in anger. It raised a claw, and the Artist's mismatched eyes widened in fear as he saw the claws swing through the air in almost slow motion, aiming for ...

He opened his mouth to scream out a warning, but it was too late. The claws ripped through the rope, and this time, the elevator really _DID_ plummet down the shaft, no longer controllable. 6 screamed, and the basket jolted to the side, slamming against a rafter and flipping upside-down. The Artist quickly tried to grab something, anything, to stop his fall, only for his golden finger to slip through empty air, and he felt himself fall down the black shaft. Snapping his eyes shut, 6 prepared himself for impact.

_"I AM!"_ he screamed in his head. _"HELP ME!"_

Instantly he felt something grab his hand, and 6 jolted to a stop in empty space. His silver and gold eyes snapped open to meet 5's single, steel one, and the burlap Stitchpunk gritted his teeth as he slowly pulled 6 up from the edge of the jutting rafter the Artist had been falling past, and which the Healer himself had luckily landed on. A voice came. "5! 6!"

9, having been lucky enough to land on the window-ledge several yards above, looked down at the two worriedly, and 5 looked up. "Get to the roof!" he yelled back. "We'll meet you there!"

9 looked doubtful, but nodded and vanished. 5 finally finished pulling 6 onto the wooden surface, and the younger Stitchpunk scrambled to his feet, looking around wildly. 5 grabbed his hand again, pulling him down a rough path the rafter's formed, almost as if he was familiar with it, and 6 suddenly realized something. Why had he only seen 5 and 9? Where were the others?! Where was 7?! 3 and 4?! 1?! 8?! 2! 5 almost _never_ went anywhere without 2! What was this, what was going on?! He wanted so badly to ask, but for some reason, it was like he was struck mute – no words were coming out of him, and it made 6 a little nervous.

"W-where are we g-g-going?"

6 blinked. Had that come out of him? He hadn't tried to say anything like that! His actions seemed to be working themselves – was his mouth the same, too? 5 glanced back at him. "The fan. I've got an idea," he answered quickly, speeding up. "And to make it work, I need some help ..."

A screech from behind them, and 6 whipped his head around – then blinked. It was night. He was back near the elevator, just standing there. The windows were whole, no fire was in sight, and dead silence sifted through the air. What ... the Artist turned. 5 was gone as well. Nobody was there except himself. The Stitchpunk blinked again. Had he ... had he been dreaming? While awake? That's certainly what it looked like now, but ... 6 shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself as he continued heading for the stairs once again.

It all seemed so real ...

Reaching the stairs, 6 stopped and looked up at the towering blocks that ascended into the upper rooms, and he sighed softly before jumping up and grabbing the edge of the first step, painstakingly pulling himself up.

Was it?

This might take a while ...

* * *

Panting slightly, 6 finally managed to pull himself on top of the last step, collapsing to the dusty, wooden floor as he tried to catch his breath. He'd forgotten how _hard_ the stairs were ... especially considering they were taller then the Stitchpunks themselves. Maybe he should've taken the elevator after all and risked the creaking, but it was a bit late to rethink such things now.

Sitting up, 6 grabbed the edge of a thick, nearby book, using it to pull himself back to his golden feet, shaking his head to clear it of the dust and sudden dizziness that threatened to send him back onto the floor again. The doll sneezed, shaking his head again, then suddenly noticed the texture of the book and turned his head, staring at it. Whatever it was, it was rather small for a Human, like a pocket-book, but very thick, with paper thin pages and a red leather cover that sported faint, worn, golden lettering.

6's silver and gold eyes widened, and he wiped off his optics before creeping up next to the book, standing on tiptoe to get a good look at the words. Blowing on the leather and brushing the dust off, the Artist squinted at the gold markings. "... T ... HE ... HOL ... Y ... BI ... BLE ..." he spelled out carefully, squinting farther at some smaller writing underneath. "... N ... KJ ... V."

He had never seen this book at the staircase before in his life, but his eyes lit up, recognizing the title as something very sacred and precious. This was the book he wanted! The exact one! Letting a smile spread over his striped face as he whispered silent thank-you, the doll grabbed the edge of the book, slowly dragging it across the floor and to a series of makeshift rooms made out of books and curtains. Dropping the edge of the heavy book to the floor, coughing slightly at the dust it raised, 6 quietly tiptoed across the floor. It'd been so long since he was last up here that he'd completely forgotten which room was which ... hopefully, he wouldn't wake any of the Numbers up.

Pulling aside the first curtain, he looked around. Metal scraps, closed boxes, vials of liquid, piles of paper, jars of ink ... the storage room, 6 realized. It was much neater then what he'd remembered – 7 probably couldn't take the original mess anymore and reorganized everything. It _had_ to be her. Nobody else would put weapons _that_ close to the curtained door, ready to be snatched at a moment's notice. Giggling at his sister's protectiveness, 6 let the curtain fall back before going on to the next room, opening that curtain as well.

This room was nowhere near as cluttered as the last one, but did have a few diagrams and maps attached to the walls by pins, and the Stitchpunk could see 5 curled up, asleep, on his makeshift bed of an atlas book, the sleeve of an orange sweater serving as a blanket. 6 waved, even though he knew the one-eyed doll wouldn't see him. _"T-thanks ..."_ he whispered softly.

He had no idea if that dream was just a dream or an attack or something that was going to be real, but a thank-you never hurt anybody. Even if, if that dream did show what would happen in some decades time, the thank-you was a bit early. And if that was going to happen in a few decades ... maybe that would explain why 5 looked duller in the first place. The older the cloth, the duller it gets ... 6 quietly let the curtain fall back as he moved onward, pushing the dream to the back of his mind for the moment.

The next room he looked into was almost _covered_ in papers, book pages, photos, and small, colorful knick-knacks and toys, like a few jumping jacks and a china figure of a newborn baby in a manger. 6 smiled faintly, remembering something he'd heard about Son once, but the pile of scarves the twins usually slept in was empty. Of course they wouldn't be here, they were probably sleeping in the operating room. Dropping the curtain, 6 opened the next one.

This room had plenty of sharp objects, weapons, and parts of killed Beasts in it, obviously 7's room, but her hammock perch was also empty. 6 blinked slowly, wondering where his older sister was as he closed the curtain door. Trotting over to yet another door and wondering how long it'd take to find 2, the Artist peeked into yet another room, looking around.

This one had many different tools hanging on the walls and ceiling, tables covered in papers and blueprints, a few pin scattered over the floor, along with a thimble. 6 relaxed slightly as he saw 7 sitting up against a wall, arms crossed and sound asleep, while on the ledge next to her, the blue-hooded figures of 3 and 4 were curled up to each other, breathing softly. Their hoods were thrown back, revealing their white faces, with 4 clicking softly in his sleep. Despite not being able to see their numbers, 6 felt it was 4, as the other twin, the one that was breathing a bit irregularly, had to be 3. He WAS sick. Murmuring a quiet _"g-get well s-s-soon"_ – which he knew would happen, I Am told him – 6 let the curtain close as he moved on.

He carefully opened the next cloth door, looking around inside. The room was cluttered with wires and metal, his own drawings piled up on a desk along with smaller scraps of scribbled-on notes, blueprints tacked on the walls as well as several newspaper clippings, and on the floor nearby was a half-melted candle. Opposite the desk was 2, asleep under a stitched blanket, a bundle of cloth squares serving as a bed.

The black and white Stitchpunk paused before cautiously stepping in, closing the makeshift door before creeping up to 2. He poked the Inventor timidly, careful of his sharp fingers. "2 ..."

The leather doll stirred before opening his brass eyes and propping himself up on one elbow, rubbing an optic. "6? Child, what are you doing up here? You're supposed to be in your room," 2 asked gently.

6 folded his golden pen-nibs behind his back, rocking on his heels. "C-couldn't sleep ..."

"I noticed," 2 smiled faintly, sitting up before his smile faded. "Is something wrong?"

The Artist shook his head, yarn hair swaying. "N-n-no, I j-just ... wanted t-to ask y-you if ... m-maybe you c-could ... r-r-read to me?" he asked hopefully.

2 blinked in confusion, looking up through the opening in the ceiling that allowed a view of the window, which in turn showed the full moon behind the green fog outside. "Read to you?" he echoed.

A nod.

"6, it's almost one in the morning."

Another nod. "I k-know, but ... j-just for a l-l-little while? B-before 1 w-wakes up?"

The older doll paused, then smiled. "Oh, all right, child. What do you want me to read?"

The odd-eyed doll smiled back, running out of the room, then returned a few moments later dragging the small, leather-backed book he'd gotten at the top of the stairs. Pushing it up onto 2's bed, he touched the cover. "T-this!"

2 studied the wording, raising an eyebrow. "... The Holy Bible, New King James Version," he read out loud before looking at 6. "Where did you find this?"

6 shrugged. "A-at the h-head of the s-s-stairs ..."

The leather Stitchpunk blinked, looking back at the Bible book. "Hm ... that's odd ... I don't remember ever seeing this there before ..."

Scooting over, he patted the bed, and 6 climbed in before snuggling up next to 2 and hugging his key, waiting patiently. 2 grabbed the edge of the thick book, opening it with a little difficulty because of the weight of the pages, until it flopped open with a soft _thud,_ the aged and worn pages settling down. 2 ran his steel fingers over the wording. "It landed on ... the Book of John, chapter fourteen. You want me to read this, child?"

6 nodded, closing his silver and gold eyes, and 2 ruffled his hair with a smile before turning to the pages, beginning to slowly read ...

* * *

_"Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened."_

_Matthew 7:7–8, NKJV (New King James Version)_

_TF (TFTime)_

_Wilbur (Wilbur-Nator)_

_Skye (RobinsInTheSkye)_

_Felix (Wreck-It Felix)_


End file.
